


Chlorine

by Yùu (Yuutfa)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oh God I'm going to Hell, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuutfa/pseuds/Y%C3%B9u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tumblrforrandomness (on tumblr)  who wanted Jim/John, non-con with handcuffs. Essentially, this is PWP. Set during TGG. </p><p>So what happened after John was abducted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chlorine

**Author's Note:**

> Jim/John is my secret ship, but it usually ends up so dark and rapey, writing it made me feel like a horrible person. Oh well, at least I’ll have company in Hell.

How did it end up like this? One moment, he had left the flat to head to Sarah’s the next, he’s bound, gagged and drugged. John’s head was spinning, he was sick to his stomach and he frankly, had no fucking clue where he was going. By the time the van had stopped and he was dragged out, the drugs were beginning to leave his system and he was just about able to stand.

 

Oh God, the smell of chlorine wanted to make him vomit. He pushed the feeling down, the soldier in him was standing resolute, even if his body wasn’t.

 

“Oh, Johnny boy, looking a little worse for wear, aren’t you?”

 

That voice... that voice sounded familiar. John blinked and slowly looked up, his hands were handcuffed behind him and his footing was still unsteady. Though he was alone for now, there was nothing to say that there weren’t sentries surrounding the abandoned pool. Fan-fucking-tastic. John’s head turned to the left, then right, searching for the source of the voice, his vision blurred with each movement. Shake it off, focus on the voice. So familiar, where had he—

 

And there he stood, standing in all his Irish glory. He was completely different from their first meeting; gone was the worn grey t-shirt and the flash of lime-green underwear. No, instead he was draped from head to toe in designer wear, nothing an IT technician could afford without selling their female family members into slavery. The confusion must have shown on his features, because it was at that point, Jim beamed at him.

 

“John, what’s with that look? Not expecting to see me?” he lilted, moving forward in wide, steady strides towards him. “I suppose I should introduce myself again. Jim Moriarty, Consulting Criminal. Hi~”

 

John lurched, his body tilted forward as he did his best to right himself. No, the stupid drug was still coursing through his veins, standing upright only succeeded in giving him a rush of nausea. Throwing up on his enemy’s shoes was most definitely not intimidating. He gave his hands a weak tug, the metal chain links rang out in response. Wonderful.

 

“And you, I know all about you. John Watson, Sherlock Holmes’ loyal sidekick, companion, flatmate,” Jim rattled off. He was circling John now, scrutinising him from head to toe. The balance of power was so clear and the mad man was revelling in it completely. The playful grin fell to disappointment. “I honestly do not see what’s so great about you. You’re so painfully boring,” he continued, his voice falling into a soft cadence. He stood before John, curling his fingers beneath his chin and pulling it up so they could meet eye to eye.

 

“Don’t touch me,” John spat, though his voice held far less bite than he would have liked. More slur than sharp conviction.

 

“Ah, ah, Johnny boy, play nice,” Jim scolded, his grip tightened and the smile grew when he felt the flinch beneath his fingertips. “Perhaps there’s something I’m not seeing...”

 

Despite himself, John began to panic. That smile, there was something sinister in that smile; too much teeth and the way those dark eyes shone with glee. Most definitely a premonition of something sinister. He did his best to hold his ground, but as those fingers drifted down to stroke his throat, he was unable to suppress the shiver of disgust.

 

“Oh, how adorable. I’m starting to see the appeal now,” he all but sang. The fingers lingered, the tips just grazing John’s pulse point.

 

John said nothing, just rode out the palpations of abhorrence and internally screamed out in fury. No, this could not be happening, this could not be happening! He pulled away, desperate to get away from the cold touch but his body was refused to listen. His brain soon reasoned with him, asking a simple question of: where would he go? They were in some random swimming pool in the middle of nowhere, his mobile had been stripped from him and as much as he hated to admit it, Jim obviously had the upper hand in this situation.

 

The soft hands dipped down to finger a button. “Good boy, stay still for daddy.” His voice barely louder than a murmur, the tone was of awe, saved for when one was particularly fascinated. Like a child that had discovered sweets for the first time.

 

...Was that what he was right now? Was he a specimen to be observed? No, no, no! He refused to just stand there and be violated! With a great mental shove, John pulled back, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. His head swivelled, valiantly doing his best to get his unresponsive body to move.

 

“Goody! You have some fight left in you.” His smile turned predatory. “All the more fun for when I finally break you.” He lunged forward.

 

John wasn’t sure what happened next, because the next thing he knew, he was on the cold tiled floor with his hands painfully wedged behind him. He let out a grunt of pain, momentarily distracted by the sensation of burning shooting through his left shoulder before he realised the position he was in. His eyes widened and his breath grew short.

 

“I wonder if he’ll still have you when you’re broken?” Jim murmured against his lips.

 

John remained where he was, knowing that if he moved his lips would touch Jim’s. His shoulder protested and the handcuffs gnawed at his wrists; if he continued to rest against them, they would be raw and bleeding. He told himself that he had more dire things to worry about.

 

Jim’s knees shifted up, pool water seeped into the fabric of his Westwood trousers but he neither minded no cared. They continued to lift up until they finally settled at John’s hips; a playful squeeze sent John jerking back in repulsion. He was rewarded with a hiss of pain, John had put more weight on his wrists.

 

“That drug won’t fade for quite a while, so let me have a little fun, will you?” His hand flitted over the chequered shirt in small sweeping motions, pausing now and then to brush over the fabric. His mood brightened with every shiver he felt, his eyes glimmered every time John bit down on his lip to restrain an outcry.

 

John knew that protesting would only make Jim all the more eager, but he’d be damned if he was going to sit there and let Jim enjoy it. He refused to give the bastard a sense of gratification. The buttons on his cardigan came undone, one by one and soon, it fell open, leaving John feeling all the more exposed. The shirt buttons came next. Gritting his teeth and bearing it, he was unable to stop the hiss from escaping him when his skin was exposed to the warm, humid air. Sticky, disgusting, sickly, just like the man in front of him.

 

“Oh my, now this, this is interesting.” Jim’s fingers traced the lump of scarred tissue above John’s shoulder. The flesh there was tender and smoothed over, so when the perfectly manicured nails dug in, John was unable to stop the cry of pain.

 

It burned, oh how it burned! Another stab, sharper and deeper this time and John felt tears welling up behind his eyes. The hot metal behind his back began to bite through his shirt, his wrists were raw and numb from pain. Liquid, he could feel a trickle of liquid running down his fingertips and seeping into his shirt. Blood? Was he bleeding already?

 

A pair of lips replaced the nails and John felt his body turn ice cold. His brain shut down and he lost the will to struggle. Sensory overload, disgust, so painfully vulnerable, humid, hot, cold, disgust, Sherlock, where the hell was—

 

His face felt hot and John’s eyes snapped back into focus, his gaze was on a lifesaver that hung innocently on the wall opposite him.

 

Jim drew his hand back from John’s cheek. “Ah, ah, can’t have you zoning out on me. You have to be all here, John, how else will I have my fun?”

 

“By blowing up old ladies?” John spat. His bravado was just for show, he was freaking terrified.

 

“That was so two days again, do keep up.” He sat back, his groin now brushing against John’s as he started to undo the belt.

 

John jolted. “Don’t—”

 

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, my dear.”

 

Both jeans and underwear were pushed past his hips and once more, John was left stewing in shame and feeling so horribly, frighteningly, exposed. He felt despair and fear permeating into his very core. He knew what was going to happen next but by no means was he prepared. By no means did he want it. He tried to shuffle away; Jim’s knees kept him pinned.

 

“If you don’t play nice, I won’t either.”

 

This only made John struggle more.

 

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. “Boring, predictable,” he breathed, his disappointment clear. Without any more preamble, he shoved his fingers into John’s mouth, pushing back mercilessly until he heard the man gag. “I’m going to give you exactly thirty seconds to get my fingers nice and wet,” he sang. “If you don’t...” he trailed off, leaving John to fill in the blanks.

 

Fear overtook his brain, violently shoving aside all notions of pride and rebellion. Shamelessly, John began to suck with fervour, running his tongue over the digits; the tips, the lengths and calluses until they were slick. He knew they would dry quickly and no matter what he did, what was to come would burn and tear him apart. This knowledge did nothing to stop his attempts.

 

“Twenty-nine...thirty.”

 

The fingers were pulled from John’s mouth with a wet squelch, a thin line of saliva joined the digits to the reddened lips. Jim smirked, pleased at the moisture dripping from between his fingertips. “So obedient,” he commented. He wiped his hand on John’s chest and his lips stretched further when he saw the horror on John’s face. “Unfortunately, this is what you get for misbehaving. Now here comes the real fun.” The hand moved down, lightly tapping at the tight hole. The tip circled it once, and then twice. With no warning, he relentlessly shoved the finger in.

 

John could have sworn that his whole world went white. A distressed cry was torn from his throat as he was penetrated. His hips lifted and his back arched. Gasping for air, John’s eyes squeezed shut, unable to block out the burning sensation that shot through his body in unyielding waves.

 

Two fingers, then three.

 

The dry skin added to the burning, the ruthless stretch and shove of the digits left aftershocks of sharp pain pulsing through his entire form. His body protested and clenched tight against the intrusion, doing its best to force it out when in reality, it just made it worse.

 

John screamed when the fingers crooked and brushed against the one spot that—

 

“Having fun?” Jim lilted. His actions were rough, violent as he pushed his fingers in deeper than before, leaving the ex-army doctor in a screaming, writhing mess. Despite all the stimulation, John remained limp; neither man was surprised. In all honesty, this made Jim smile all the more. He pulled his hand out and once again brushed off the mess on John’s chest.

 

John’s legs twitched and he was panting when Jim eased back. Everything below his hips burned, he felt as if he had been hollowed out, the palpations of sharp ache continued to assault him with every breath. His eyes fell shut. He wished for the hell to be over, but he knew what was next. Over the frantic beating of his heart, he heard a sharp, plastic click and the sound of fabric shifting.

 

His jeans and underwear were shoved down to his ankles and his knees, lifted. Deep breaths, one, two and—

 

The stretch was unbearable. The burn before was dry and unbearable, this was a thousand times worse. While the fingering could be compared to a scalding from hot water, this was a sugar burn. Sticky, searing and relentless.

 

John cried out, though it came out as a half-choked sob instead. He felt so full and it was terrifying. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want this alien, foreign object being pushed inside him, he didn’t want this feeling of shame and violation to be forever soaked into his soul. He squeezed his eyes shut as Jim’s head fell into the crook of his neck, a fresh blossom of pain unfurled at his throat from where he had been bitten. The thrusts were coming thick and fast, the end was soon.

 

Jim’s body stilled and his breath came out in a shudder as he came. The short bursts of breath were hot and heavy against John’s ear but at the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Right now, the world was a blur, encased in cotton wool, the only thing that was irrefutably clear was the razor-sharp pain pulsating through his very core and the sticky liquid seeping from his abused hole.

 

Jim leaned back to admire his handy work, his skin now sporting a dark flush as he dipped his fingers into the mess. He pushed in a finger and when he pulled it out, he made sure to show John the semen dripping from the tip.

 

John’s lips automatically fell open when the fingertip touched them. His eyes half-mast and his very being worn, he mindlessly sucked and blankly gazed up the criminal mastermind.

 

“You know, I’m tempted to keep you for myself... You’re more fun than I thought.” He pulled back and straightened his clothing. His eyes swept over what was left of the once proud, army doctor and smiled at his handiwork. “Come now, John. We have a show to perform.”


End file.
